


Diary of an Empath

by Angela_Jahnel



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Character Death, Language, One Shot, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Horror, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 01:10:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16029893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angela_Jahnel/pseuds/Angela_Jahnel
Summary: A lightening strike kills all emotion in the main character. A psychological journey into insanity.





	Diary of an Empath

April 18th- It’s been about a week since I died.

The doctor told me I was struck by lightening. Spring storms can be dangerous in this part of the country. I guess it was stupid to go out jogging, but the storm was just building on the horizon when I left the house. I was jogging through the park, in the ‘zone’, oblivious to everything but my feet on the path and the music pounding through my earbuds. 

I don’t remember being dead. I don’t recall a bright light, or heaven, or hell, or anything. I was jogging, then I woke up flat on my back in the grass with a concerned face looking down at me. My savior’s name is Miguel. He is a registered nurse, which I suppose was a lucky break for me. On that fateful day, Miguel was driving home past the park where I was jogging. He told me the blinding flash of lightening nearly made him wreck his car. He managed to pull over to the side of the road and sat there for a minute, furiously blinking the spots from his eyes. When he looked up, he saw me lying there in the grass, tendrils of smoke curling up from my body. He told me how I looked when he first ran over to me. I have no idea why he felt the need to describe everything in detail. Maybe he just needed to get it off his chest, since it was nearly as traumatic for him as it was for me. I’m pretty sure the guy was in shock. He’d never seen anyone get struck by lightening before. Well, buddy, I’ve never been struck by lightening until now, so we both experienced something new today, didn’t we? Miguel told me the grass near my feet was smoldering and there was a hole blown out of the side of my left tennis shoe where the lightening grounded itself. He said I was just lying there, my dead eyes staring up at the sky. I wasn’t breathing, my heart had stopped. Miguel called an ambulance and administered CPR. He brought me back. From where? I don’t know. I guess I should feel grateful, but I don’t feel much of anything lately.

 

April 25th- Another week has passed and I still feel lifeless, like a walking corpse. I used to like stories and movies about zombies. Now I guess I am one. I feel no emotion at all anymore. I don’t get angry when someone cuts me off in traffic. I don’t cry over sad movies. I didn’t even feel happy when I won $150 on a lotto ticket the other day. I feel nothing, absolutely nothing. I went back to the doctor and she ran several different tests, then gave me a clean bill of health. She assured me there was nothing wrong. Then why do I feel like a lifeless husk? Why can’t I feel any emotions anymore? That lightening strike must have done something to my brain. The doctor suggested I may just have a form of post-traumatic stress disorder, but I should be ok after a while. She said I should be fine. Fine...sure, whatever.

 

May 2nd- My boss threatened to fire me today. He complained that no one wants to buy a car from a ‘robot’. I can’t help it if I no longer have the ability to gush about a car being such a wonderful buy. I don’t care if it has heated seats and gets great gas mileage. I used to be so enthusiastic about cars. I loved them. I even restored a classic 1969 Boss 429 Mustang a few years ago. Selling and restoring cars was my life, my love, my reason for existence. I used to rave about every detail of a car when I was making a sale. The leather interior, the large screen navigation system, the custom wheels. All of these things used to genuinely excite me. Now, nothing excites me. I don’t even care if I lose my job.

 

May 9th- I felt a glimmer of hope today. I actually felt something! Maybe my brain was damaged after all and is now starting to repair itself? Maybe it really was PTSD and I’m beginning to recover? I don’t care what it is, as long as I can feel emotions again.  
This particular experience was a negative emotion, but at least I felt something. Beggars can’t be choosers, right? It happened this morning. My girlfriend, Jess, doesn’t like the ‘new me’. She asked me, “Where is the happy, outgoing person I fell in love with?”. I don’t have an answer for her, at least not one she will like. I really think that part of me died in the park that day. Of course, I don’t say that. I don’t say anything. Jess shouted at me, called me names, did everything she could to make me angry, to show some emotion, any emotion. The old me had a temper. I would have called her a bitch, I would have insulted her mother, I probably would have put my fist through a wall. Quite frankly, the old me was kind of an asshole. 

When her harsh words didn’t get a reaction out of me, when her taunts didn’t work, she screamed at me in fury and disgust. She stormed out, slamming the door behind her. That is when I finally felt something. It was just a tiny bit of emotion, but it was there. I felt a little bit of anger and sadness, but it felt somehow distant, not my own. I carefully analyzed these new emotions and realized they weren’t mine, they were coming from Jess. My own emotions are dead, they died with me in that park, but I can feel strong emotions from other people. How is this possible?

 

May 16th- I didn’t want to go to my doctor and tell her about my breakthrough. She’d probably just think I was crazy. Instead, I did some research. What I found out astounded me. 

“Empath- a person with the paranormal ability to apprehend the mental or emotional state of another individual.” 

This was some sci-fi level shit right here. When Jess got angry, is this how I picked up her emotions? 

I’ve been experimenting. I went back to the park today and discreetly hung around some young lovers. I felt their love for each other, their desire, and their blissful happiness. It felt so wonderful! I sat behind a tree, basking in their emotions. I probably should have felt like a pervert, I should have felt disgust with myself for living off the emotions of others. I don’t have the capacity for those emotions anymore, not unless someone else feels them for me. It’s a pathetic existence, but an existence nonetheless. 

 

May 23rd- I hate to admit it, but I’m an addict. I spend every waking moment surrounding myself with people. Gloriously emotional people! I have to do it. I feel nothing but dead emptiness if I don’t. So what if I’m an emotional vampire? I could always have worse addictions, and besides, it’s not hurting anyone. People make me feel alive again. I’ve been practically living at comedy clubs so I can feel happiness and humor. I can actually laugh when I’m there. I’ve been going to every sports event I possibly can. The joy of winning, the sadness or frustration of losing, the anger some people feel for the coaches, umpires, and opposing teams, it’s all a wondrous drug! It fills me up and brings me to life. Of course, I always have to go home eventually. I have to go back to being alone and empty inside.

 

May 30th- I can’t take the emptiness anymore. I’ve run out of excuses to hang around with friends, co-workers, and even strangers. They’ve all started to shun me because I act ‘weird’. 

I got caught lurking below my neighbor’s window while they were having sex. I told the police officer that it’s not my fault, I just wanted to feel passion again. They put me in a cell overnight, but it wasn’t so bad. The cell was crowded with emotional people, so I actually enjoyed myself. A police officer told me I’d be released in the morning. I told him I’d rather stay in here. My response and the blank look on my face really seemed to unnerve the other residents of my cell for some reason. 

 

June 6th- The police released me on the 31st, but they called my doctor and told her what happened. She forced me to schedule a psychological evaluation. I’m writing this while I wait to meet Dr. Hurst….here he comes now. He asks me why I’m writing in this journal while he is talking to me. I tell him it helps me think. He asks if I am ashamed of peeping on my neighbors. I tell him I am capable of feeling nothing of my own. I tell him about the lightening strike and my death and my ‘rebirth’ as an empath. He writes the information down in a notebook. I know I’m doomed. I feel only disbelief and pity coming from him. He doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. 

In the middle of our session, we are interrupted by a man bursting into the room. He’s big and angry, with a wild look in his eye. I can feel the fury radiating off of him. It surges through my body like an electric current and feels oh so good! He bellows at Dr. Hurst, making the man cringe back in fear. I’m writing this all down as fast as I can, but it’s so hard to concentrate with all this rage flowing through me. The man accuses Dr. Hurst of sleeping with his wife, interspersed with shouts and big, meaty fingers jabbed into his chest. I know he’s guilty because I can feel the fear and shame flowing from Dr. Hurst. The man wraps one big hand around Dr. Hurst’s throat and starts to squeeze, all the while screaming obscenities at the smaller man. I don’t know how to handle this much rage, all this emotion. It’s overwhelming me. I feel like I’m on the edge of climax, but being denied my orgasm. I have to do something to get over that edge or I’ll die! 

I have to quickly finish writing in my journal before the police arrive. Dr. Hurst wasn’t very thankful about me saving his life, even if it was unintentional. I remember feeling his fear turn to absolute terror when I picked up the heavy brass lamp and hit the man over the head. I knocked him down and smashed his head in and it felt so good. I hit him again and again and again. Of course, the rage I was feeling quickly dissipated once I’d turned his head to gooey pulp. Oh well, it felt good while it lasted. Dr. Hurst decided I need to be institutionalized for my safety and the safety of others.

 

June 13th- They let me out of solitary confinement once a week to write in my journal. The doctors think it’s therapeutic. They don’t trust me with pens and pencils, so I have to be supervised. What would I do with them? Hurt myself? Hurt others? They don’t understand that I don’t feel anger or hatred, at least not unless someone else is feeling that emotion.

I cling to my journal like a drowning man to a life preserver. These weekly journal entries mean that I get to be around other people, even if only for a short time. They still don’t know what my particular psychosis is, and they don’t believe I’m an empath. It doesn’t matter if they believe me or not. I don’t have enough emotions to care. I feel only what the guards feel, and that is usually pity, boredom, or disinterest. Occasionally, one of the guards will be horny, thinking about his girlfriend or the hot woman he met at the bar last night. Other times, a guard is angry at someone in his life and brings that anger to work with him. I live for those days. They are like special treats. 

When they put me back in solitary, I revert to an unfeeling, uncaring zombie. I sit and patiently wait for the next week’s journal time. I think back to the day I was struck by lightening and I realize something. I died that day and I am in Hell.

**Author's Note:**

> I intentionally didn't specify a gender for the main character. I thought it was more interesting for the reader to make the character who they wanted them to be. I originally wrote this story back in 2011 and posted it on writerscafe.org as my alter ego, Lovely Lyla, but I updated the content and added a bit more interest to the story.


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